Philippa Carr - Gossamer Cord

“Doctors don’t always know and there are sometimes…complications.”

“You are the last person I should have thought to get morbid ideas. Listen to me. You’re going to have a baby…any time now. It’s natural that you’re scared. I suppose anyone would be. We all know babies don’t arrive in the mouth of the stork or are found under gooseberry bushes and that the process of birth is a painful one. It is happening all over the world, but it is the first time for you and you always hated discomfort of any sort. You are not looking forward to it, naturally, but that’s all. Just imagine when you hear little Tristan or Isolde yelling his or her head off. It’ll be wonderful. Your own baby. And you’ll know it’s all over then. Oh, you are lucky, Dorabella.”

“You would like to have a baby, would you?”

“All women like to have babies…or most of them.”

“Only the maternal type. I think you are one of those.”

“You will be.”

“Just suppose…?”

“Suppose what?”

“Suppose…like the dream…I don’t come through.”

“I refuse to think of it for a moment.”

“Dear, dear Vee, we should never be apart. I don’t feel the same without you. I feel half-finished. That’s why…I know you don’t like this, but it could happen. People do die and often those least expected to.”

“Forget that silly dream. It’s what they call prenatal nerves.”

“Do they? I expect you have swotted up on the subject of birth.”

“I keep my ears open.”

“That’s because we have always shared everything. I’ll tell you what I want, Vee. If I don’t come through…”

I made an impatient gesture.

“Listen,” she commanded. “Just suppose. If I weren’t there, I want you to take little Tristan…or Isolde. I wouldn’t want anyone else. Do you understand?”

“What do I know about babies?”

“As much as I do…and I’m having one. You’d have Nanny Crabtree to guide you. But I’d want you to have the baby. Mummy would be there, too. She’d have a hand in it. But the baby would want one person to stand out against all others, someone to take the place of its mother. And I would want you to be the one because you are part of me.”

“Of course I’d be there…but it is all nonsense.”

“Yes, perhaps it is. But swear. ‘Cut my throat if I ever tell a lie.’ ”

I laughed at the old childish saying. I could see her so clearly when she wanted me to promise to keep some secret…licking her finger: “See my finger’s wet”; then drying it: “See my finger’s dry. I’ll cut my throat,” drawing a hand across her throat, “if I ever tell a lie.”

“I swear,” I said. “But you’re soon going to be laughing at all these fancies.”

She stretched out contentedly.

“I feel better now,” she said. “Whatever happens, it will be all right…I mean the baby will be. You know how it is with us. We’re like one, Vee. It will always be like that…whatever happens. If I died…”

“Oh, please, stop talking about death.”

She said dreamily: “You’ve given your promise. We always kept promises, didn’t we? You see what I mean, don’t you, when I say you are part of me and I am part of you? We’ve been together right from the beginning. We’re bound together. It’s there, isn’t it? Other people can’t see it. It’s so fine…it’s like a cord…strong but invisible. I think of it as a gossamer cord that binds us together…for always, even if one of us died…”

I sighed impatiently.

“All right,” she went on. “I won’t talk about it any more. You’ve promised…and whatever happens, that cord is there. Now, you’ll stay here, won’t you?”

“Well, I’m here for a while.”

“I’ll tell you what I want you to do. Marry that nice Jermyn man and stay here altogether.”

“Certainly, Madam. If that will suit your convenience.”

“Fancy! We’d be neighbors. What fun! Though Mummy has her hopes on the London lawyer.”

“Really! I wish you would not discuss that sort of thing. It’s embarrassing. Particularly when there’s nothing in it. I think you were rather wise to get yourself married and so escape these speculations.”

“All mothers are the same,” she said. “They hate losing their daughters, yet they are not content until they see them married. It is rather perverse of them.”

She laughed. Her fears seemed to have disappeared.

I wondered whether there had really been a dream. She loved drama and it was essential to her that she should be at the center of it. She probably liked to contemplate a household in mourning for her, a motherless baby just arrived into the world, a twin sister who was part of her, bound by “a gossamer cord,” becoming a surrogate mother. She enjoyed that as long as she could be there to look on at the drama.

It was a long time before she returned to her room. I went back with her and tucked her in. She clung to me for a while.

“Remember,” she said. “You’ve sworn a sacred oath.”

Back in my own room I found sleep evasive. In spite of my rejection of her fears, they had conjured up some of my own. Just suppose…No, no. I could not entertain such an idea.

She would be all right. She must. Everyone said so. She was young and healthy. Everything must go right.

I lay there, dozing now and then, half dreaming uneasy dreams.

Below the sea seemed to have lost a little of that serene murmur; and had taken on a malevolent whisper.

At last I slept.

A few days later Dorabella’s ordeal began.

There was a hushed atmosphere throughout the house. The doctor had come and the midwife was with him. My mother and I sat tense, waiting. Nanny Crabtree was ready to pounce on the baby. The moment she heard the cry of a child, she would be there. But the doctor and the midwife had made it clear that her presence would not be needed until that moment.

I could not stop thinking of Dorabella’s coming to my room, and the dream which she had more than once.

My mother was equally nervous. We sat talking of other things—anything but Dorabella—while we waited for news…and feared it.

At last we heard the footsteps on the stairs. The doctor was beaming at us.

“It’s a boy. You can see her now…just for a few minutes. She’s very tired.”

“She…she’s all right?” I stammered.

“Right as a trivet,” he answered.

We dashed up to her room. There she lay, flushed and triumphant. The midwife was holding the baby—red-faced—a tuft of fair hair on his head, squirming and irritable.

“He’s a beauty,” said the midwife, as the child opened his mouth in a wail of angry protest.

Dorabella held my hand and that of my mother. My mother was almost in tears of relief and happiness.

Dorabella looked at me. “I managed it,” she said.

“I knew you would.”

“What do you think of Tristan?”

“He’s wonderful,” said my mother. “Only a daughter of mine could produce such a child.”

WHEN DORABELLA HAD RECOVERED from her ordeal, James Tregarland insisted that the baby’s health be drunk in his vintage champagne. Tristan was by this time looking very different from the little old man of ninety whom he had resembled at birth. His skin was a healthy pink, his hair, though sparse, had a golden tinge, and his eyes, which he occasionally opened, were amazingly blue.

Nanny Crabtree held him and was watchful of any who came too near.

Dorabella sat in her chair, looking completely restored to normal. Dermot stood beside her, the proud father; Matilda, with Gordon, smiled happily on us all; and my mother and I sat close to Dorabella.

The old man lifted his glass.

“Welcome to Tristan,” he said. “Our grateful thanks to his parents for giving us this blessing.”

We all drank to that.

Dermot said how happy he and Dorabella were by this exciting event.

“Well,” said James Tregarland, his eyes glistening with that look which I had seen many times. “This is a great occasion. The succession is secure.” He was smiling at Matilda. “Don’t you agree, Matty?”

Matilda replied with something like faint embarrassment: “Yes, indeed it is.”

The old man’s chin wagged slightly, as I had seen it do before, and I think he implied some secret amusement. What was amusing him now seemed to concern Matilda. Was it some joke they shared?

Matilda, however, was smiling serenely.

“I am so glad,” she said, “that it is all over. It has necessarily been a worrying time.”

“And you and Gordon have been as anxious as the rest of us,” said the old man. “And now all is well. It’s a great weight off our minds. We have our little one.”

He was still smiling at Matilda.

“Yes,” she said. “Dear little Tristan. It will be wonderful to have a child in the house.”

The baby suddenly opened his mouth wide and yawned, which made everyone laugh.

“He seems a little bored with the proceedings,” said the old man with a grin.

“He wants his rest,” put in Nanny Crabtree. “I’ll be getting him down.”

She left us, taking Tristan with her.

When she had gone, the old man said: “She’ll make sure he’s all right, that one.”

“She can be a little officious at times,” said Matilda. “But I am sure she will be a wonderful nurse.”

“She certainly is,” said my mother. “That is why I was determined to get her. She looked after my girls and you couldn’t have a better watchdog.”

“Watchdog,” cried the old man. “You think there is going to be an attack on the youngster, do you?”

“I meant a watchdog against the hazards of childhood,” explained my mother. “She’ll see that he has the best care and is not allowed to take risks. She regards him as hers.”

“That’s what he needs,” said the old man, smiling to himself.

I thought he was very odd, and wondered whether he was slightly deranged. He seemed to be greatly amused by some secret joke.

A few days later my mother said she must go back. She had decided, after consultation with Nanny Crabtree, that the baby would be too young to travel at Christmas so we should spend the festive season at Tregarland’s.

Mary Grace was to visit us here shortly. Dorabella was very eager to sit for her portrait and grew really upset when I talked about returning when Mary Grace did; and finally I agreed that I might as well stay until after Christmas.

My mother left and Mary Grace arrived.

She and Dorabella liked each other immediately and Mary Grace started on the picture.

She was welcomed by the family. The old man came down to dinner and was clearly interested in her. She sat next to Gordon at dinner and she and he seemed to get on well together. They had all seen the miniature I had given Dorabella for her birthday and were impressed by Mary Grace’s work.

Surprisingly Gordon knew a little about art and they had something to talk about; Mary Grace blossomed and seemed to be a different person from the one I had first met.

I was contented. Life seemed to be running smoothly now. Dorabella’s fearful prognostications had proved to be without foundation; Mary Grace was much happier and I could not help feeling a mild self-congratulation on that score, since I had been the one to bring her talent to light. Doing good turns to others gives one such a glow of pleasure. Well, I was contented.

I had not seen Jowan Jermyn since I had come down. In the first days we had been too concerned about the birth to think of anything else; and afterwards there was so much to do with Mary Grace’s arrival. I had simply not had the opportunity of going off alone.

But now there were the sittings and that left me a certain amount of free time.

I did not feel I should go to the field in search of him, for it was hardly likely that he would be there. It was some little time since I had arrived in Cornwall and I had made no attempt to see him. I could not expect him to be there every day just on the chance that I might come.

What a ridiculous state of affairs this feud was! If he could have telephoned to Tregarland’s it would have been so different.

I would just take a ride. The country was always interesting; and at this time of the year there were no visitors, which gave it an added charm.

I rode inland, skirting the Jermyn estate, past woods and fields which were new to me. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of the coastline. It was beautiful on this day. There was a benign touch about the wind which came in from the sea. It was caressing.

I felt pleased with life. Dorabella was well. She had really frightened me with her talk of dreams and making me swear to look after the child who, she was sure, would be motherless.